


The Symphony That Was Meant to Be

by BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Did I Shove My Predictions and Biases Here? Yes. I did., Future Fic, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghosts, Happy Ending Exploration, I teeter the Line Between Ghostbur and Alivebur, Legacy vs Freedom, Libraries, Narrator Uses They/Them for Eret but the Characters Don't Follow This Necessarily, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paradoxes? Yeah., Symphony vs Tale, The Crimson Egg has Been Defeated, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29462418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk/pseuds/BeatrixGtheMaskedDogNoobsomeExagerjunk
Summary: The ghost of a composer and a story keeper meet somewhere within the world of impossibilities and have a chat about their lives.Or the ghost of Wilbur Soot ends up traversing one of Karl Jacobs many tales, one about things soon to come, that is if they're even meant to come for him.
Relationships: Karl Jacobs & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	The Symphony That Was Meant to Be

**Author's Note:**

> _"Shows are a never-ending life of course—a silhouette that stays when you are gone! What use is the struggle? And the strife, old horse? End it and your legacy lives on."_
> 
> **(Don't Stop Dancin' Reprise, BoJack Horseman's The View From Halfway Down)**

**_I'm sorry_ ** . That's what the paper on the ghost's face said.

Wilbur woke up to a familiar location, where he died most likely.

He held the paper in his hands and immediately realized who wrote it.

"I'm sure I put the block in question somewhere here in the Museum," Said the paper's author, heard easily from far away.

The ghost quickly got up from his lying position, placing the paper in the nearby chest.

The clop of their heels echoed throughout what Wilbur just realized was a museum, making the ghost look around and exit the apparent replica of the Button room.

"You don't actually have to show it off for us, Eret," A foreign voice that clearly sounded much further away replied to that dreaded traitor. The voice was American.

"You guys wouldn't stop arguing about what kind of block it-" 

The two people in the museum locked eyes.

Wilbur saw the King of the SMP, their hair now longer and curlier. Their crown seemed to be made of real gold, the enchantment giving it a rosy glow, bedazzled with various, colorful jewels cut into the shapes of flowers.

Only then did the piece fit the head of they who wore it. 

Eret dressed as they usually did, gray shirt and jeans, only wearing leather platform boots (mismatched, with the right being black and the left being white) and an intricate long-coat not unlike that one given to that biblical figure. It was embroidered with glittery prints of wings, swirls, crowns, and jewels and had a cut whose silhouette resembled a gown from far away.

What was quite unusual was the lack of shades on Eret's face. The white of their eyes was haunting, more alive than what Wilbur knew was his dead own.

Eret was magnificent in their stride, just as Wilbur knew them before their betrayal. The malicious stains of their character were miraculously replaced with an empowered confidence, attractive in the ways that stories would paint gods.

"Wilbur?" Eret squinted their eyes then tilted their head in confusion, "What's brought you here?"

"E-Eret?" The ghost stepped back as the King began to approach him.

"I thought you were going to be with family at the Hotel?" Eret gave Wilbur a smile, chipper and genuine, "Did you come over here to ask me for something?"

_ What family?  _ Wilbur wondered to himself.  _ Since when was there a hotel? _

The expression on the ghost's face made Eret trace back their words, "If you don't want to talk about it, that's quite alright too."

Wilbur nodded, "Yeah yeah, I just..."

He couldn't think of an excuse.

"There's nothing to worry about, Wilbur." Eret fidgeted with their fingers, making their stature less threatening unknowingly, "The Festival is still ongoing, you know? You can follow me if you like, o-of course."

_ Festival? _

“Hmm,”

_ Was Eret...afraid? _

"Why not?" Wilbur quickly tried to make sense of what was just said to him, unsure still of what was happening.

Eret gestured to Wilbur to follow them to a section of the museum where stacks of chests were found.

The disorientation was sickening. Wilbur felt aware and unaware simultaneously.

“Do you mind helping me find the block labeled ‘Boo-Hooty?’”

“‘Boo-Hooty?’”

It was torturous for his soul.

Eret chuckled as they opened a bunch of chests with the wave of a hand, “That block has history. Foolish requested that it be added to the museum.”

“F-Foolish?” Wilbur hadn’t heard of such a name.

“He witnessed the conflict over that thing. Thank God it didn’t escalate into an all-out war.”

“Who were the people involved?” Wilbur looked through one of the opened chests, the one closest to him.

“Hannah had created the block, I believe,” Eret looked through another, “Afterwards, Ponk came about it and labeled it ‘Boo-Hooty’ as a joke. Foolish and Hannah then found the block with the label and sought the cause of this. Ponk blamed Skeppy, unknown to Foolish—or to anyone, really—if this was a weirdly elaborate way to lure Hannah to the clutches of the Eggpire,”

Wilbur had a hard time following, “E-Eggpire?”

“They’ve been gone for a month now!” Eret sighed, “I understand if your memory of the event was wonky, Wilbur.”

“I don’t think I was quite involved with that,”

“Not as much as...well,” Eret trailed off.

Wilbur nodded after this, only to come face-to-face with the sought-after block, “Is this the infamous Boo-Hooty block?”

Eret faced to see Wilbur holding a block of enchanted black wool.

“I owe Charlie so much diamonds,” Eret said regretfully, all the chests surrounding the two suddenly closing shut.

“Oh no,” Wilbur laughed, “I’m so—“

Hands over face, “that’s two stacks! I’ve lost one hundred twenty-eight pieces of diamond!” 

Wilbur watched Eret despair over the bet they apparently lost with a giggling amusement.

He then wondered who exactly Charlie was. Actually, he wondered who most of the people involved with the block were.

When the two calmed down, Wilbur asked them, “What did you suspect the block to be?”

The two were then walking away, towards the exit of the Museum.

Eret had the block in their hands, “Coal. I thought it was a coal block.”

“And yet you were the one who had it?”

“I told Hannah to place it in the chests!” Eret was defensive, “Speaking of which, the chests have to get sorted once this celebration is over—tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Oh,”

“Took you long enough!” Cut in that voice Wilbur heard earlier.

The person yoinked the block out of Eret’s hands, examining it with a smug smile.

“I know, I know, it’s—“

“Black wool! Ha!” He pointed directly at Eret’s face.

Catching Wilbur next to the King, “Sup, Wilbur?”

“Hey,” The ghost replied back with a gentle wave.

The person was clearly a slime hybrid of sorts, teal-black bulging eyes behind a pair of rectangular-framed glasses. His hair was a soft shade of brown, strands mixing with swathes of slime. This was just some guy, a half-human and half-slime individual, upon Wilbur’s further inspection. Bits and pieces of his person were blobby, bouncy, and green, the rest of it being a pale, greenish tint of white. 

He wore an enchanted shirt which stated his amount of lives (three, which is sensible for someone new), a sash of many colors (with the same prints as on Eret’s get-up), jeans, and mismatched sneakers. On the right foot was a green sneaker, and red for the left foot.

“Hand me the diamonds, Eret,”

“Charlie, can we do this when the Festival’s over?”

“Alright, alright,” Charlie smiled back, placing the block in his inventory, “I’ll give this back tomorrow then?”

“Your payment will be waiting, Mister Slimecicle,” Eret replied jokingly, saluting Charlie as the slime person went off.

_ Slimecicle _ . Wilbur took a small liking to this chipper individual.

“I promised Foolish and Captain Puffy that I would visit their stand. Would you, erm, like to come with?”

“It’s…” Wilbur still didn’t know what to feel about what he was seeing and hearing, “It’s fine, Eret. I-I’ll just walk around. Explore, you know?”

“Of course, of course,” Eret nodded at Wilbur, “Have a good night, Wilbur. Extend my blessings to your family.”

Wilbur faced away from Eret, meeting a sight both familiar and unfamiliar.

The wood of the various stands was so...L’Manburgian. Everyone being in fancy clothes (if not aesthetically pleasing fancy armor) and the increased amount of new faces threw Wilbur off.

The Prime Path was no longer wooden but made of sandstone. Beacons were rampant, as well as the main light source of the area besides pillars of soul fire. Not a single torch was in sight. 

There was a mythical and unnatural quality to everything, what with the way the minecraft magic and the artificial craft intermingled before Wilbur’s very eyes. It was less rustic. Was there an influx of builders for new members? It must’ve been so.

Many old structures had new structures in place, better looking and classy too. Various buildings made from expensive stone surrounded the so-called Festival grounds, blending the monochrome and the colorful like the archetypical painter’s eye for art.

“Watch out!” Wilbur was stopped from his roaming by an unfamiliar voice—female and American—and faced the source.

“Let me just,”

“Oh!” Wilbur backed away at the realization that he almost stepped on a wither rose, casually picked up by this woman he had never met yet. 

“There we go!” She was human, her long curly brown hair cascading to her back, “I’m so sorry about that. I thought I cleared all these ones out. You’re that Wilbur guy, right?”

She held out her hand, the one without rose vines growing all over, “I’m Hannah. I think I must’ve joined long after you were gone. Although, since you’re here again, it’s cool to meet you!”

_ So this is the Hannah Eret was talking about. _ He reached, to which she almost recoiled but didn’t, and they shook.

Hannah wore a half-sleeved blouse that was a faded pink color, paired with a black, glittery jumper skirt, stockings (that had patterns of wings, swirls, crowns, and jewels) and white boots. It looked like she dressed up for the evening. 

Her right arm was noticeably full of rose growths, the blooms aglow and the thorns piercing through her tanned, rosy skin. Wilbur noticed the rose growths turn black and emit particles when she had picked up the wither rose, making noticeable her veins which had visibly matched with the wither-colored blooms.

“It’s good to meet you, Hannah. I see you have quite the fondness for flowers,”

“Roses, really. It’s branding,” She then placed the picked-up wither rose on her head like an accessory, very much unhurt by the notably deadly flower, “I hate to be rude, but holy shit, your hands are cold! Are you feeling alright?”

“Well, that’s odd,” Wilbur glanced at his hands, their grayness making him immediately panic mentally, “I-I don’t feel, erm, cold at all,”

“...this server could merit having a proper doctor.” Hannah said, “Anyways, it was good talking with you! If you’re up for snacks, the food stalls are near the Holy Land.”

“I’ll take note of it,”

“And keep an eye out for any more wither roses for me!”

“I will! Thank you!” Wilbur nodded at Hannah as she waved at him, walking away.

Wilbur then quickly inspected his person, wondering why he hadn’t gotten to doing that earlier.

His skin was gray, noticeably so.  _ Well, probably not, surely? _ He then quickly deduced the light of the soul fire all around being the cause for the relative lack of suspicion concerning his gray, dead skin. 

There was no color in his eyes either, and then Wilbur was hit with the sudden realization that he had his glasses on. His vision seemed to remain clear with or without wearing them.

He had a jacket—the one he used to wear before he even conceived his symphony—with a brightly colored sweater under it.  _ Was it yellow or red? _ He really couldn’t tell, but it was stitched up where he knew he had been killed, copious amounts of blue sticking out. He wore ripped jeans and a tattered beanie as black as his jacket, along with gray boots covered in various colored dyes—red, blue, and yellow.

Wilbur Soot was dead and no one noticed.

Or was he?

Perhaps Wilbur Soot was alive, and people did notice.

All Wilbur knew was that he was dead. There’s nothing that could convince him otherwise. 

There’s nothing that could convince him to want otherwise.

“What the fuck?”

Wilbur knew that voice.

“Schlatt?!”

“Wilbur, what’re you—“

_ Jschlatt _ .  _ Fucking Schlatt. _

Now, Jschlatt was  **alive** . 

He was visibly, so obviously alive. 

It’s the same smell of alcohol and cigarettes radiating off of his person, although this time the fragrance was punctuated with the smell of alliums, milk, and honey. 

The dapper suit he always wore was a shade of blue instead of black, buttons a rose gold material. The ram wore enchanted netherite boots and an enchanted yankee cap, his horns curling and clearly sharpened. His left horn, last remembered broken, seemed to be filled in with enchanted netherite, engraved with that recurring wing, swirl, crown, and jewel pattern Wilbur noticed almost everywhere.

“Connor, I don’t think he’s even gonna entertain the proposal. I mean, we’re all here to party right now!”

Two people followed behind Schlatt—Slimecicle and someone else Wilbur didn’t know but vaguely recognized.

“I’m just saying that we should get Purpled to relocate his office somewhere else. Fuckin’ — his office has been crowding up the place!”

“We can just tell him to leave...L-Little Penis Land when it’s best appropriate,”

Schlatt tried to recompose himself when the two neared him, nonetheless still eyeing Wilbur.

“And Little Penis Land legally belongs to me! I get to say when that fucking kid leaves, and I want that building gone by tomorrow,”

“I don’t know, Connor,” Schlatt tapped the two on the shoulder, subtly gesturing with his snout towards the direction where Wilbur stood, “Charlie might have a point.”

“Hey again!” Slimecicle greeted again.

“What the fuck?” Connor’s pupils scanned the ghost in a frenzied motion, making Wilbur worried as to what exactly he was revealing to the stranger before him.

“Right?” Schlatt chuckled at disbelief and amusement from his friend’s reaction.

Connor, as the other two called him, was human. Another American, brunette, pale, and indigo-eyed, he was wearing a blue blazer, under it an off-white office shirt secured with a red-violet necktie (with that unholy wing, swirl, crown, and jewel print), paired with Wario yellow suspenders and dress pants. His shoes were bright and shiny, matching with the tie.

“I was literally there, I was ,”  Connor stopped to breathe.

“W-What’s wrong?” Wilbur asked in worry.

“Schlatt, did you spike my drink?!”

“Do you actually think I’m the kind of guy who’d do that shit? I’d drink it, not spike it!”

Connor made a sound of horror, hesitant to even look at what he couldn’t believe was a ghost of Wilbur.

“You!” He pointed at Wilbur, “Y-You’re not supposed to be here,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  _ Not supposed to be here?  _ “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Connor drew back his hand.

“‘Don’t know?’” Schlatt replied, “Wilbur, w-we came back at the same Goddamn time! Canonically! All that time in the void together, Wil? H-Have you forgotten?”

“Came back?!” The ghost's already present feeling of disorientation began to increase, the colors around blurring and shaking into each other.

“Wait, is this about the book hunting fiasco from two months ago?” Charlie cut in, “So many chests and houses were lost to that book hunt…”

“Fuckin’ hell, man,” Schlatt sighed.

“That’s it,” Connor said to Charlie, “you’re getting a proper recap of that thing when this is over,”

“I-I…” Wilbur felt like he was  **_sinking_ ** .

Slowly too, feeling the sensation of being pulled down—it was like dying, but there was no pain. What lingered around the ghost’s form was an indescribably inconvenient tickling sensation radiating from every wound Wilbur remembered actually affecting him in his life.

It’s water that blocks the air, that familiar choking feeling that forces the body to cough and cough and cough and cough and cough and cough and—

And spark a flame. 

And flame a fire. 

It’s a fire that hurts, a fire that’s preferable to reject than to walk through, to fight through, to climb through.

Wilbur remembered, remembers, and will remember why he chooses to give up every time. 

For the fruit of desolation, of true, genuine desolation, is the death of the spirit. 

Death of the spirit is so strong a disassociation, where the elements are ever so ready to destroy, down to whatever the spiritual equivalent of a quark is supposed to be.

Great is the pain of those left forever unfinished, of all those spirits, those impossibilities, of those that were never meant to be. 

Only cruel gods cackle at such pain, entertained yet unsatisfied, parasitical in habit.

**_A foreign force suddenly hurled Wilbur back._ **

“I’m so sorry!” 

**_Correction_ ** : a foreign force collided into Wilbur so hard that the ghost in question was forced back into the “unfamiliar.”

Wilbur blinked, finding himself in another area within the so-called Festival grounds, face to face with an insanely tall creature. He reckoned that they were the source of the apology.

“I-I didn’t mean to teleport into you!” 

“Oh no,” Wilbur composed himself, getting a better look at the person, “it’s all good.”

“Thank goodness,” The person was American.

Not human, Enderman clearly, though not quite, given the splashes of white in the face. The person who bumped into the ghost wore a clean cut suit, arguably classier than Schlatt’s. It was black and silky, radiating particles and enchantment one attributes to The End, the must-be-left untouched. Green and red punctuated the creature’s figure, with glowing two-toned eyes, mismatched gloves, and green-red spats. 

He wore a crown made of iron, the enchantment making it look like silver. It was decorated with the same jewels found on Eret’s crown, just carved more intricately to match the shape of Ender eyes. The way the colorful just played with that shiny shade of gray was reflected in his necktie, buttons, and shoes. All of these were embroidered with that still-repeating, you-know-what print. 

A pair of shades rested on the collar of his blazer. No one knows they are the same ones Eret used to wear.

“I’m guessing the potions you and Tommy brewed together kicked in, huh?” Wilbur tried to restrain a chill at the sight of the person’s jaw unhinging while talking.  _ Yep, definitely an Enderman in some way. _

“...what potions?” 

“Oh, it  **_really_ ** kicked in,” His face was expressive, and it expressed genuine concern.

“Did it, now?” Wilbur bit back with fake amusement, finally having an excuse of sorts, just to explain his presence.

“You want some water? Cake?” The stranger went through his inventory, the audible sound of rummaging immediately telling Wilbur he was incapable of organization, “There’s some food at Puffy’s stand. I-If you’re fine with it, we can always walk back to the Hotel!”

“I can assure you, erm,” _ Fuck, what’s their name? Oh fuck, I’m panicking, _ “God, I-I am out of it, aren’t I?”

Gloved hands took hold of the ghost’s shoulders, “Hey! H-Hey, you’re gonna be fine! You’re going to be fine,”

“You sure about that?!”

“What’s your name?”

“...Wilbur.”

“What’s my name?”

“Erm,” The ghost continued to act, squinting his eyes, “uh…”

“Uh oh,” reacted the tall stranger, “Fundy’s definitely gonna get mad at me if you’re...well, l-like  **_that_ ** .”

“Dead?”

“...s-sure, Wilbur.” As the stranger tightened his grip on Wilbur’s shoulders, the ghost suddenly felt enveloped in purple particles.

He blinked.

Food stands surrounded him and the tall stranger, familiar and unfamiliar faces either eating or selling. 

The air around them told him immediately that they were at the Holy Land. 

Everything in the Holy Land just felt different,  _ most especially when you’re dead. _

“Oh, hey there!” Greeted another American voice.

“Ranboo!” So did another, American too, “and Wilbur? That’s a surprise! It’s been a while since we last talked.”

“Has it?” Wilbur spat with a dazed tone.

“I’m so sorry about him, guys,”  _ Ranboo _ was the name of the Enderman hybrid, “Wilbur here’s a little out of it.”

The two new strangers were running what seemed to be the equivalent of a tea-and-pastry stand.

“Oh no! What happened to him, Ranboo?” 

The first voice came from a ewe who had long woolly locks, naturally brown with the tips dyed rainbow. Her eyes were a bright, starry-eyed blue-green, betrayed by the eyebags of one who carries the world. She wore a bedazzled tricorn hat that matched her redstone-dyed, gold embroidered long-jacket. Under the jacket was a ruffled white dress covered in sequins of many colors and that God forsaken print pattern. 

“I’m honestly not quite sure, Puffy,”

Of what Wilbur could muster further of what was apparently the one named Puffy, she wore a gold plated leather belt-sash, a scabbard of the same material attached and holding an enchanted netherite sword.

Wilbur faced the other. 

He was terrifying to look at.

“Did you take in any poisons? Harmful poisons?” He had emeralds for eyes, aglow in the moonlight, “It must be really strong for your skin to gray like that.”

“Wait,” Ranboo took a closer look at Wilbur, “Huh. You are kinda pale.”

“Ranboo’s right!” Puffy pitched in, “Are you doing okay, Wilbur?” 

“Guys please, you’re making me uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, I’d advise against that,”  _ This other guy was a living, breathing totem of undying! _ He jumped over the stand and landed in front of Wilbur to observe him.

Wilbur stared back, noticing not a shark skin but a live shark latched onto the totem’s head, its eyes and apparent wounds glowing green. This person was chiseled and carved, wearing enchanted sharkskin gloves and boots, as well as an emerald-locked and knotted sash. The sash was gray, the infamous print embroidered onto it with gold and green.

“Do you know what’s wrong with him, Foolish?” Puffy asked, impatient.

_ So this is the people Eret had spoken of—yeah, this seems like the kind of place he’d love to visit a lot. _

“Guys, I-I don’t think this is for me to handle,” Foolish then looked directly at Wilbur, the emeralds of his eyes reflecting the image of someone vaguely familiar to the ghost, “I don’t think Wilbur’s sick, or drunk, or high at all, really.”

He knows. This guy’s a totem, he literally fucking knows.

“But you were brewing potions with Tommy,” Ranboo said, “Last I checked, Tommy was being coddled by Tubbo and Techno.”

“Ranboo,” Wilbur faced him, “not gonna lie, I barely remember what I’m doing here, or why I’m even here, or why I apparently know you—when did I even put this on?” 

Wilbur gripped on his jacket, making the three around him express concern.

“Wil, Fundy gave you that jacket.” Puffy said.

“He did?”

“Okay!” Ranboo tried to keep any awkward feelings from arising, “Foolish, is there anything we can do?”

“...ask Eret or Karl? All I know is that Wilbur isn’t supposed to be here.” Foolish then brought out a basket that he had been preparing since Ranboo and Wilbur arrived at the stand.

_ I mean, I really am not supposed to be here. And yet, here I am! Why am I here? _

He handed it out to Wilbur, “Here’s a free pack of cookies by my Dad! I have some special teas I made myself to come with it.”

“Uh, thank you. You’re very kind, erm,”

“Foolish. Or Noah. Either works.”

“You’re very kind, Foolish. Send my regards to your Father,”

“Appreciated!” Puffy replied to Wilbur’s confusion.

Ranboo placed a hand on the ghost’s shoulder, “I guess we can go see Eret first. They’re probably around somewhere,”

“Oh, you guys just missed him,” Puffy interrupted. “I think he went to visit Dream and Sam?”

“I-It’s fine, really.” Wilbur kept Ranboo from replying. “I already bumped into Eret before I came here. I would prefer to talk to Karl next.”

“Oh?” Ranboo and Foolish were intrigued.

“Did Eret notice anything?” Foolish asked.

“I...I honestly don’t know. He just asked me to help him find this block of enchanted black wool.”

“‘Boo-Hooty…’” Foolish muttered aloud, fist in the air.

“Well, I guess that means we’re seeing Karl.” Ranboo said.

“Do you know where he is, Ranboo?”

“I last saw him by Church Prime with Sapnap and Quackity,” The enderman hybrid pointed at Church Prime, not too far away, “It’s not too far a walk. Unless of course, we teleport?”

“So that’s how you brought me here?”

“Y-Yeah. I haven’t fully mastered it, at least not as fast as Eret has, but I’m getting there!”

“That still sounds cool, Ranboo!” Wilbur was in fact impressed at Ranboo’s ability, questioning to himself how Eret had it too, “I say we get to him as soon as possible, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

**Author's Note:**

> _"Do you all see what I see? What I know? What I see? Do you all see the memories tomorrow reminds me?"_
> 
> **(What If Tomorrow Comes, Team StarKid's Black Friday)**


End file.
